Until the End
by Ilandere Okami
Summary: Mello was abused as a child. It didn't change when he got to Wammy's House, except it was mental instead of physical. Unwilling to show emotions, one person can see right through him to his deepest wishes and fears. For Mello's b-day, MattxMello one-shot


**_Edit: Changed title from "Unknown Soldier" to "Until the End" which is still a Breaking Benjamin song. Please enjoy it to its full potential!_**

**Author's Note: A Mello-fic 'cause today's his birthday! Happy birthday, Mello! I'd like to thank the author of "Unintentional Love" for having Mells think about curling up, crying, on his bed while at Wammy's House, which caused me to come up with an idea…finally…for his birthday fic! I'm also gonna create a video, more info in my blog, link in profile.**

**Warnings: Yaoi, MelloxMatt, angst to the max, non-existent character death, murder, abuse…did I say angst? OOC Mello to the extreme...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or its characters. I wish I owned Mello. *sigh* I also do not own "Until the End" by Breaking Benjamin. I hope you guys can somewhat see where this song fits it…**

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When I was little, my mom always told me not show my emotions, for my dad would see. If I showed one ounce of "girly" emotions, I'd be beaten. I hated living in that world, never knowing how much longer I had to live. You have to understand that I loved my hair long, loved chocolate, and loved to read, all of which my father thought to be things only girls liked or did, and therefore would get me in trouble.

Through him, I learned to be tough and not show any emotions. Through him, I learned what it was meant to be a man. Through him, I learned how to kill those who you were meant to love. He killed me through the inside, and I killed him through the outside. He and my mom, because she never did anything but tell me how much of a failure I was as a man. She said that if I just became a man, he wouldn't hurt me.

The police thought a murderer had come to my house and killed them, not their own son, a little, weak, blond boy of eight. They didn't see the scars lining my black-shirt-clad back, the bruises running up and down my arms and legs, also hidden beneath black clothes. My eyes held no tears, for I knew what I did and did not regret it. Those idiots thought I was just in too much shock.

They brought me the police station, where there was a place for me to sleep the night, until they found a good home for me.

They never did.

The next morning, I didn't wake in a police station, on a small, lumpy cot, but on a plane going God-knows-where. A man with graying hair and wrinkles sat next to me. He wouldn't answer any of my questions. I remained silent after a while, knowing that questions always ended with a cut or bruise.

When we got off the plane, a woman dropped a red rosary on the ground. I picked it up and called after her, knowing how important jewelry was to women, and how God was to some as well, but she kept walking. I held onto the damn thing, not wanting it to be crushed.

The old man took me to a limo, drove me to a large building, and said I was home now, at Wammy's House. I gripped the rosary tighter, not wanting to lose it, realizing it was the only thing I owned besides the clothes on my back now, for everything was at my old house.

They put me in a room with a strange redheaded kid with stupid orange goggles. He was very anti-social, constantly playing videogames where he had to kill as many things as possible in a restricted amount of time. I easily grew weary of his silence, the silence of our room, and went off to the library on a regular basis, when not in classes. There, I found a Bible and read from it the workings of God. I found relief in the words, the stories…

But I refused to read any other book, afraid that my dad could somehow retaliate from Hell, hurt me somehow, take away the textbooks, take away my rosary, take away something important to me.

Soon, I discovered L, and received a reason to strive to be the best. He became my idol, my father-figure…one who didn't care that I looked like a girl, one who didn't care that I was who I was, one who wouldn't dare abuse his successors—namely, me.

With new goals and positive emotions, I read to my heart's content, ate as much chocolate to feed my addiction, didn't care about anyone else but me. I was number one in the whole place, guaranteed to be L's successor.

And then Near came along. He held no emotions, something I could never accomplish, even when needed to, and could concentrate on the most boring of things, like puzzles. He was my polar opposite, yet reached number one faster than I did. I hated him. He beat me so easily, but this time mentally, instead of physically…

I could never surpass him. Every time I raised my score, so did he. And right behind me, as always, was the boy who I had beaten with my scores, Matt, my taciturn roommate. He never acted as if he hated me, yet I had beaten him. What was wrong in that brain of his?

I thought often about how someone younger than me could beat me, how I could let that kid beat me. I couldn't stand it. I needed to beat him; I had to as if my life depended on it!

Always had I noticed how everyone besides the three of us seemed to be friends, seemed to act nice towards each other. And here I was, mother-less, father-less, friend-less, title-less. I had no reason anymore; I could never beat Near no matter how hard I tried. I could never be happy with myself, like Matt. I could only be me, but even that wasn't good enough.

My frequent library visits became weekly, and soon monthly, as my wish to read escaped me. Though the books often took me to fictional, fantastical lands, away from my life, I just couldn't escape anymore, the sadness weighing me down too much. And yet, I refused to show the emotions to anyone on the outside, as if my dad was still waiting with a red face and bulging arm muscles.

But I could never beat the damn idiot. No matter how hard I prayed, no matter how long I studied, he won every time.

I couldn't continue living my life like this, so alone, so beaten down. Often, I curled up on my bed and cried my eyes out—Matt away at the time, of course; I couldn't let him see me so weak.

"Mello," a small voice called out one night. I didn't recognize the voice, but it logically had to be Matt; he was the only other kid with a key to this room. I had never heard him speak before, not in class, or in private. I swear I thought he was mute.

"Mello," he said again, this time closer and sadder sounding. Dammit, I was caught. He caught me baring my emotions like a sissy little girl. I quickly rubbed at my eyes, wiping away tears. Yet, still they fell freely from my eyes.

Suddenly, a small, warm hand brushed away the hair fallen in my face. I opened my stinging eyes to see a sympathetic smile gracing Matt's face. His goggles had been pulled down to his neck and I could see his emerald eyes for the first time. They held the same sadness I felt constantly, but never showed through my ice-cold eyes.

He sat me up and pulled me close to him, sitting on my bed next to me. "Mello," he sighed for a third time. What was with him? Was that the only word he could say? But no, he finally spoke, "You have to know that you're not alone here." My eyes widened and I turned away from his pleading face in shame. "You have to know that you have to keep trying as hard as you can to get what you want, but don't let others bring you down." I looked back into his eyes, pleading with my own. "I'll never hurt you."

That was it, he broke it, destroyed the damn of emotions that had recently sprung a leak. I collapsed into his arms and held him close, tears streaming down my cheeks, sobs breaking through me, body trembling. He kept me with him all night, not letting go as long as I needed him.

The next morning, I awoke to a grinning redheaded boy with stupid orange goggles. He was holding me, forcing me to realize that last night wasn't a dream, or a nightmare.

After a few moments of staring at each other, Matt's grin turned even wider and he stated, "I hacked into Wammy's database." How could he smile when he said that? "Today's your fourteenth birthday." The anger in my expression fled, replaced by both surprise and fear. Nobody was supposed to know that kind of information here!

Instead of blackmailing me or anything of the sort, he pulled me closer and said, "My name is Mail Jeevas; I was born February first, 1990." Why was he telling me this? I could easily use the information against him, but he had mine. Why would he even care about me to begin with?

Well, he did say that he'd never hurt me…At that thought, tears started forming in my eyes. But before a single one could fall, Matt whispered in my ear, "Happy birthday, Mihael Keehl," and kissed me on the cheek.

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**Author's Note: Crap story is crap. Bad writing, no plot, making up the past of those who I don't like doing that to. However, it does seem realistic, especially the Wammy's House part. ^-^**

**In honor of Mello's birthday, he got Matty to kiss him on the cheek. Poor guys…*sniffle***

**Last time I used one day to write a one-shot w/o plot in honor of something *cough*Deceiver of Fools*cough*L's death day*cough* people said it was dry. Please don't tell me that this one is! I tried hard to get in Mello's emotions! Of course, I don't have abusive parents, so I don't know what it would really be like for him. Sorry in advance about that…**

**Once again, happy birthday, Mello. I thought about setting this literally today…but thought against it, wanting a Wammy's House tribute thingy. ^_-**


End file.
